


Find Our Way Back

by VikLovesFeet



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Body Swap, Humor, M/M, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 13:05:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19377286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VikLovesFeet/pseuds/VikLovesFeet
Summary: One day, Katsuki Yuuri awakes to find himself not in his own room, nor his own body. So who's in his body?





	Find Our Way Back

**Author's Note:**

> So glad to be apart of such an amazing project!!  
> my partner for this was WhiskeyJack and they did beautiful beautiful art to go with my story!! <3  
> You can find them at:  
> https://twitter.com/s_Whiskeyjack

There wasn’t much that could stress Yuuri out early in the morning, not when he refuses to accept daylight has come and responsibilities follow. He will forever be a night person and with being a night person comes some unusual waking situations, such as falling asleep with his glasses still situated on his nose, he’s had to replace quite a few pairs just for this reason alone. This goes especially with a night of drinking.

Something also not unusual after a night of drinking is waking up in a not so familiar room. Like now. And he is _not_ going to freak out… mostly because this bed is so comfortable and it comes with a dog!

Yuuri doesn’t sit up or even open his eyes but a little smile spreads across his face when the dog moves out from underneath the covers to nuzzle into his side, “hi sweetheart,” he mumbles and he’s almost startled by how deep his voice sounds. He justifies that he _is_ just waking up and he had been drinking. He lifts his hand lazily to pet the dogs head. A smile curls onto his face and he thinks _at least this guy likes dogs, I have good taste._ He runs a tongue over his teeth, and notices that they feel different but decides that he probably just has to brush them.

“Vik! You never sleep this late, c’mon.” A man barged into the room, almost stirring Yuuri from his spot in the bed. He won’t be swayed, after all he’s had worse Morning-after’s.

“Sorry,” Yuuri hums, “Vik’s not here.”

“Funny.”

Yuuri cracks an eye open to peak at the guy who stands steadfast at the threshold with no intention of leaving, Yuuri could groan, but he holds back the impoliteness. Instead he kicks his feet over the side of the bed and sits up, his body feels heavy, “ow,” the side of his foot hits against the floor hard.

Must be one of those beds that sit low on the floor, except “whoa! Long legs… why am i so white?” He says looking down at his bare legs, he brings his hands up to look at them as well. Yup, white. With gorgeous long fingers.

Yuuri’s always had a thing for hands, not his own though, these hands were perfectly manicured and very very nice. And not his.

He jumps from the bed and pushes past the man who bumps against the door, “what’s wrong!?” Yuuri rushes through the hall checking every door until he finds the bathroom, he flicks the light on and is startled by a man he has never seen before staring back at him in matching shock and confusion. Both Yuuri and the man grab at their chests as if trying to keep their hearts inside their bodies.

“What the f-” Both pairs of lips move to match words, “wait…” _Oh my god,_ Yuuri steps forward to touch the man, instead touching a hard reflective surface. A mirror.

“Oh god, oh god, what?!” He shrieks, stepping back and touching his face, no, _not_ his face _._ The gorgeous gorgeous face that stares back at him in horror.

“Viktor, are you okay?” A knock comes from outside the door. Yuuri quickly steps towards it to make sure he locked the door.

“I’m fine,” he squeaks out.

“Uhm, okay… if you say so?”

 _Just go away,_ Yuuri wants to scream, but he doesn’t have to because he mercifully hears footsteps walking away from the door. Yuuri takes a deep breath and pushes himself away from the door.

He then spends the next ten minutes in the bathroom going through the Five stages of Anxiety:

**Stage One: “What the fuck is going on?!”**

“What the fuck is going on?!” He pinches his hip, “god, these abs are amazing. No! Focus!” He slaps his face but still doesn’t wake up from this nightmare. 

“Fuck, this guy is so hot,” Yuuri chews on his lip, these beautiful lips that he wishes he could bite with his _own_ teeth.

**Stage Two: “Where am I?”**

“Okay, I’ve just got to figure out how far I am from home, then I can run away from this place!” He regrets not grabbing the phone that he saw on the bedside table right before he bolted from the room.

He pulls the medicine cabinet open; razors, hand lotion, face lotion, hair mask, nail clippers, medicine. He picks up the bottle and reads the name _Christophe GIacometti,_ “must be his roommate,” he mumbles to himself.

He chucks the bottle back in and closes the cabinet before it can bounce back out, “I’m never gonna get home!” he groans staring into the mirror, his milky skin looks great under these lights and there’s not a pimple in sight. Yuuri’s skin feels hot and his eyes sting, holding back the tears, “where the fuck am I? Who the fuck am I?”

**Stage Three: Don’t freak out.**

“Okay, I just need to fricken chill out.” He sinks to the floor, taking a deep breath, and slides back on the tile until his back hits the tub, the acrylic cooling his skin. He’s spent plenty of mornings after drinking on the bathroom floor, the cold tile was always such sweet relief on his hot skin.

But this isn’t waking up to retch into the toilet, this is something else entirely.

**Stage Four: Fail stage three.**

“Is this guy in _my_ body, then? Oh my god?!” He pushes his fingers into his hair - his very silky hair - and pulls, biting back a scream. He swallows hard and takes another deep breath, “fuck!”

“He better not do anything in my body.” After a moment his eyes fly open in realization and gasps, “he _better_ not eat my fucking leftovers.”

How is he supposed to go to work today, yeah he was absolutely dreading it already because rehearsals are always a _nightmare_ but this just the last thing he needed. His crew had been working on this ballet for weeks, he finally got a main part - though he believed it was undeserving - and now he was going to fuck it all up.

**Stage Five: Play it cool, don’t let anyone know you’re freaking out.**

Yuuri slaps himself again and stands up, “I… just can’t think about that right now.” He walks into the kitchen to find Christophe. When he greets the man with a “‘sup,” he only receives a baffled look, so Yuuri says, “sorry for pushing you. Uh, before.”

Christophe’s eyebrows crinkle, “wanna put this morning off?”

“God I would _love_ too,” nothing sounds better than skipping rehearsals in the wrong body. Except Christophe doesn’t know Yuuri… couldn’t possibly be talking about rehearsals. And Yuuri has to _act normal_ , “but I’m all good. Ready to go. Perfectly fine.”

“Yeah I figured you’d say that. As if you’d be willing to miss your prince on stage.”  

What the hell does that mean? “R- right… when, uh, do we have to go?”

“You told Yakov you’d meet him there at nine,” the man looked him up and down, pursed his lips and said, “but that doesn’t look like it’s gonna happen… Are you hungry? I made breakfast.”

“Yeah, I could eat.” Yuuri steps around the couch and falls gracelessly onto it with a thud. The man follows, slipping into view and sinks to his knees in front of Yuuri, a finger coming under his chin and tilting his chin up, inquiring eyes search his face. 

It takes everything inside of Yuuri not to slap the man’s hand away, half because his own anxiety at having his face touched and half because this Vik person has such perfect skin and it must be very precious to its owner. Yuuri does sink away from the touch though, melting into the couch, “please stop.”

“Who are you and what have you done with my friend.” Yuuri’s eyebrows go straight down and he turns his head out of Christophe’s grasp.

“Don’t talk crazy, w- who else would I be.”

The laugh that escapes the man is loud and would be contagious if Yuuri wasn’t in a state of panic. “Go take care of your baby girl before she eats the table.”

“Pft, yeah duh.” Yuuri practically scrambles from the couch, he hasn’t had to take care of something other than himself in years. “Uh, and…”

“Hm?”

“Where are we going?”

Christophe lazily turns to face Yuuri, “Ha _ha_ Viktor, you’ve really got a sense of humor this morning. ‘ _The most beautiful danseur in the city, maybe even the world_ ,’” he mimics, “‘ _oh Chris, hold me,_ ’” he swoons dramatically landing on the couch.

“That’s not what I sound like,” Yuuri whines, except it is what he sounds like as of this morning, that imitation was spot on. 

“Now hurry up,” though Chris is just a bodyless voice from behind the couch, “ _Stammi Vicino Theatre_ waits for no one.”

 _Stammi Vicino Theatre,_ that’s where Yuuri’s supposed to be too. And this man is gonna be there? Or would’ve been? Will he go there in Yuuri’s body? Will he try to dance? He probably dances better than Yuuri does, maybe this is why they’ve switched bodies.

“R- right… I'll just take care of… uhm _my baby girl_ ,” he says deciding to find out her name promptly.

Yuuri grabs the leash from the hook by the door and the dog comes running over sliding into his legs ad Yuuri can’t help but coo at her, petting her head. He steps out the door and the chill brushing against his legs alerts him of his pantless attire, he scrambles back into.

When Chris looks at him over his shoulder he explains, “no pants.” And rushes into Viktor’s room to grab some pants, he stumbles into the hallway only half in the pants and hopping on one leg trying to get into them fully.

“Why are you in such a rush all of a sudden?”

 _Why_? Yuuri’s nerves feel like they’re on fire, he wanted to get to the theatre early this morning. How is he supposed to dance like _this?_ He wasn’t even positive he could do it in his own body, but what now? This gangly (but perfect otherwise) body he doesn’t know how to use, how to move in, walk in, let alone dance.

It’s a quick walk only because his thoughts are consuming, he’s starting to feel hot and itchy and _anxious_.

When he gets back he quickly unhooks her leash and starts rummaging through the cabinets, throwing them all open looking for the dog food.

When he can’t find it he finds himself becoming agitated quickly, his face scrunches to keep the tears from coming, it should be unfamiliar in Viktor’s body but crying is the most natural thing for Yuuri. “I… I can’t… where?!” He rubs a hand down his face, hard and irritating, his skin stings where he pulled too harshly.

“Hey, hey?” Chris rushes over, “what happened out there.” The man’s fully dressed and looks ready to go. “Why are you freaking out? Jeez, talk about a rough morning for you,” he adds under his breath.

“Can you-” Yuuri sniffles, “Chris, please feed the dog.”

Yuuri looks away from the man, he’s humiliated, just like he’s going to be in the next hour when he gets to the theatre and he can’t dance, can’t prove himself, losing his spot in the performance and maybe even the company. His thoughts are spiraling and he didn’t even realize he sank to the floor until a wet nose is pushing through his hand barricade to sniff at his face. Then a cold tongue is licking the salt off his face and the knot in his throat is dissipating and he feels a hand going through his hair.

“Did you hear me, Vik? Can you breathe?”

Yuuri nods, he didn’t hear whatever it is Chris said but he can breathe, he can do that much. Yuuri won’t look up at him though, he keeps his face buried in his arms, unwilling to push the dog away.

“I don’t…” Christophe starts, “are you…” The man takes a deep breath, “I’m gonna take care of Makkachin, you go get dressed. This is an easy day Vik, whatever’s going through your head, we’ll... figure it out.”

Yuuri lets himself be pulled up and pushed towards Viktor’s bedroom. He can’t even manage an ‘okay.’

He stops at the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth, the real challenge comes when he has to pick his outfit. What would this guy wear? Why is he even going to the theatre today?

His thoughts drift back to what Christophe was saying, who could he have been talking about? The most beautiful danseur in the city… does he mean Sasha or maybe Phichit? Yuuri works with a lot of beautiful and talented danseurs, it could be any of them. He feels his cheeks heat and for a moment lets himself forget about the production.

~ * ~

“Wow, what the fuck are you doing, girl?”

VIktor is currently staring at himself in front of the mirror, fully naked. He runs his fingers across his clavicle and down his arms. “I am the most beautiful man in the world,” he states matter-of-factly.

“Pft,” the tan man giggles from the threshold, “well, I’m glad to see you finally found some of that confidence I’ve been trying to sprinkle on you. What brought this on, Yu-baby?”

“Oh, I’m not Yuuri.”

The smile doesn’t fall from the man’s face but his eyebrows do raise, “what’s that supposed to mean? Supposed to be some game so you can talk yourself up? Hey, if it works for you…”

“No, really.” VIktor interrupts, running his fingers through his hair, he can’t wait to do this with his own hands. “My name’s VIktor. Viktor Nikiforov.”

“I didn’t know you knew about Viktor Nikiforov, I thought you were oblivious to anything _not-_ dance.” When Viktor turns to the man with raised eyebrows it’s like something clicks into place, “uh… I’m sorry… were you like… doing some weird roleplaying thing? Gonna jack off as if you were Viktor… that’s cool, uh. Wait, I didn’t mean _weird_ roleplaying… I meant-”

Viktor finally spins from his position at the mirror and leaves the bathroom, his feet heavy on the floor and he knows he doesn’t do justice to Yuuri’s grace, his light steps and the beautiful sway to his hips. He’s never been as graceful on dry land, no matter how beautifully he can move on ice.

“I’m not kidding!” He sings over his shoulder walking into the bedroom he came out of to pull the sweatpants he slipped out of earlier back on.

“Wait!” Phichit almost misses the door in his haste, but catches the moulding with the tips of his fingers. He pulls himself upright and steps into view, Viktor rests his hands on his hips - his soft, perfect hips - and cocks his head to the side. “You mean to say, you’re really Viktor Nikiforov, figure skating's number one bae?”

“I’m actually retired now.” He sighs as he pulls up his pants and watches Yuuri’s skin disappear behind dark.

“Okay, I believe you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, because like I said before, Yuuri’s oblivious to everything that doesn’t revolve around dance, dancing, and hating himself. Oop, don’t tell him I said that.”

“Does that mean he doesn’t know who I am?”

“Like. I. Said.”

Viktor must look like the impression of a kicked puppy and that must be a usual look for Yuuri because Phichit swoops in quickly to put a hand around his shoulder and squeezes gently, “hey, hey, not a big deal. He’ll definitely know who you are now! He must be thrilled to wake up in such a hotty body.”

“Oh! Right! I didn’t even think of that! He must be with Makkachin!” What’s Yuuri doing in his body, he’d love it if Yuuri enjoyed the view, took the time to fall in love with him while he’s over there. His face falls in realization, “oh god, Chris.”

Phichit steps back, “who?”

“My roommate.”

~ * ~

Yuuri’s barely three feet into the theatre and he’s being attacked. Physically assaulted. By a child no less, a mop of blond hair crowds his vision cursing - he assumes - at him in some slavic language. 

“Please stop,” he tries in english. This causes the mop to pause and step back, now it’s only Yuuri versus a scowl. “Oh,” he recognizes this mop. “Yuri Plisetsky.”

“Who the fuck else?” He spits. “You forget how to speak Russina? Or you don’t want your little friend to think we’re talking about him, huh?” He shoves a thumb in Christophe’s direction.

“Ah, little Yura I know you _only_ wanna talk about me.” Yuuri’s eyes go wide when Christophe slaps his own ass, who _are_ these people?!

Yuri pulls Yuuri by the shirt and then they’re nose to nose, “why are you here?” And it sounds like he’s accusing him of something, but Yuuri doesn’t know what.

“Get your hands off of him!” Yuuri swears the voice yelling is his own. He looks up and almost faints when he sees… himself. Of course, he knew this was coming, he had figured this Viktor guy was in his body, but _oh god._

Christophe, who’s not even touching Yuuri at this moment takes a step back as if he gets told ‘hands off’ often.

“W- wait… just-” Yuuri prys himself away from Yuri’s grasp.

“Huh!?” Yuri growls but thankfully, lets him go. “Since when do you know this piggy?”

“Yuuri’s not a piggy!” Viktor exclaims… though to anyone else it looks like Yuuri said it.

“Yuuri!” Yes, Phichit, stop this mad man! Except Phichit doesn’t run over to grab Viktor before he causes a scene, instead he runs over and grabs Yuuri by the shouldres, shaking him completely and Yuuri’s still not used to this body so he can barely keep himself upright.

“Phichit! Calm down!”

“I’ve been stuck with this absurd man all morning!” He gestures back to Viktor, where he’s pinching Yuri’s cheeks, the latter trying to slap his hands away. It’s rare that Phichit is matched for his _outgoing_ personality...

“H- how-”

“How do I know that that’s him and you’re you!?” A gasp, “Yuuri! You’re my best friend!”

Yuuri pulled Phichit into a hug, it felt weird to rest his chin on Phichit’s head. “And besides, he’s been talking about how nice your butt is for at least an hour, so i figured either you got drunk again or someone stole your body.”

“Phichit!?” Yuuri pushed Phichit away and took a step back, his worries only momentarily satiated, “I don’t know what to do…” He chews his lip to fight the tears that threaten to spill again. “I’m tall and _so white_ and I can’t use this body!” He spits out.

“Wow. Rude, I wouldn't say-” Viktor starts to say but gets tugged back into his conversation with Yuri by the collar of his shirt.

Phichit, always the good friend, puts on a warm smile and takes Yuuri’s hand, “Yuuri, sweets, _you_ can do this.” He pulls him into another hug, tucking Yuuri under his chin this time and Yuuri has to bend over to fit, “we have a bit of time to figure this out.”

Phichit releases his hands and turns to grab Viktor away for the misfit duo, he pushes Viktor and Yuuri down the hall, “I’m gonna go with Chris and Yura and you two go talk or make out or something.”

“This isn’t a movie,” Yuuri grumbles, “what are you gonna do?” Yuuri says over his shoulder, trying to fight the hand pushing into his back.

“I’m going to make a plan to fix this when you two can’t.” A wink and then Phichit’s turning back and Yuuri’s alone with Viktor.

“So,” Viktor looks up at him with a stupid grin on his face, “where’s my dressing room.”

“Ugh.”

~ * ~

They sit next to each other on the small couch in Yuuri’s dressing room, Yuuri’s hands folded between his knees and Viktor looking around wildly.

“We never got a room like this at the rink?”

“The rink?”

Viktor turns to him, “you really don’t know me at all, huh?”

“Nah.” Yuuri says flippantly and when he realizes how rude he sounds he quickly stumblrs, “uh, I mean, you- you’re very- yeah,” he indicates to the body he’s in, “gorgeous… I’m sure if I was a fan you’d be all over my walls… UH!? I mean like, I’m sure you’re fantastic, I’d be a fan… for sure. I mean, probably. What do you do?”

Viktor laughs at his mess of a clarification. “You’re a lot less graceful with your words then with your body, huh?”

Yuuri scoffs, looking down at his hands, “I would say I’m lacking in both areas.”

“Very modest,” Viktor mumbles, “so what should we do here? Should we kiss?”

“Kiss?” Yuuri asks surprised, “why would we kiss?”

Viktor’s eyebrows come down, “isn’t that what people do in these situations?”

“‘These situations’? I doubt this is a common occurrence. Viktor starts naming movies and Yuuri cuts him off, “they don’t kiss in Freaky Friday!”

“Hmm, that’s true…”

THey both look around the room, avoiding each other’s eyes, after an agonizing half a minute Yuuri sighs, “fine, let’s try it.” There’s nothing else anyway.

Viktor perks and leans in towards Yuuri, “ah…” He pulls back, “I’ve never been this low,” he pouts and then gets up to seat himself in Yuuri’s lap, “that’s better.”

Their lips touch and Yuuri can swear he feels the magic around him, _this must be it, it’s working!_ His whole body tingles, he throat hot and his chest tight.

He pulls back and quickly deflates, he’s still in Viktor’s body… it didn’t work.

“When I’ve thought of our first kiss I thought I’d get to be kissing _your_ lips, not my own,” Viktor says contemplatively.

“Wait… what?”

There’s a knock at the door, “it’s just about time to go,” Phichit pokes his head it and gives a wry smile when he sees what’s going on on the couch. “So? DId it work?”

“No,” Yuuri grumbles, pushing Viktor off his lap. “God, what the fuck am I supposed to do?”

Phichit pushes his way in and closes the door, “hey hey, Yuuri, Yuuri~ it’s okay.” He thrusts a bag Yuuri hadn’t noticed until now into his hands. “You’re gonna squeeze into that sexy mesh costume and you are gonna put on this wig from the make up department and you’ll be all set!”

“Oh! Use this!” Viktor chucks something at him and when Yuuri catches it and looks at it his face scrunches.

“This is for swan lake.”

“Whatever, just tell them you’re trying something out.”

~ * ~

The music indicates Yuuri’s introduction and the man makes his way onto the lonely stage with a _chasse_ into a _switch arabesque leap_. Only seconds ago he had looked like a nervous wreck, but as soon as he slipped that mask on everything melted off of him, Viktor was amazed.

Phichit had helped Yuuri pin the black wig on over his silver hair and then tied the black mask for him. Viktor had asked if the sheer black covering the blue of his eyes would be distracting while he danced, wondering if it would make him trip or mess up, but Yuuri had just said that he would close his eyes.

And Viktor had to laugh because it was really that simple for Yuuri. The man complained that he was just a graceless danseur who just ‘got lucky’ with his role then he turned around and said he’d dance blind if he had to. Doesn’t that just say it all, Yuuri _knows_ the moves, he _knows_ how to move regardless of his obstacles, and trusts his body to act accordingly when he has to.

“He’s never gonna get his body back with that attitude.” A voice says matter-of-factly beside him, Viktor, shaken from his thoughts, whips around to see Mila Babicheva, principal dancer.

“Er… ah what?”

“His body thinks it’s unwanted, so it went to the closest person who _does_ love it. Maybe even worships it.” She turns and winks at him.

 _Caught._ Viktor flushes.

“It will only return to him when he believes in himself, in his body.”

“How do you-”

“Good luck Viktor.”

“What the fuck…” he says to no one as she saunters off.

He turns back to watch Yuuri, his jump higher than he intends making his landing harder then he wants,  his knees buckle under the weight, Yuuri was doing perfectly until now. Every movement falling off it’s mark, Viktor winces when Yuuri’s foot catches on the stage and as Yuuri starts to fall forward Viktor feels as though he’s being pulled towards the floor as well.

Viktor’s body becomes heavy, his thoughts feel scrambled, and worse yet he can’t hold himself up, Yuuri’s hands hit the floor and VIktor stares down at them. All he can think about is Yuuri’s perfect, callous-less hands that don’t belong on the floor, they deserve to be held and kissed and adored, definitely not used to hold this body up.

Viktor tries, he tries _so hard_ , to push himself back up, but everything's hazy. Everything goes black and when he opens his eyes again he’s looking down at his own hands, his own knobby knuckled, manicured hands.

“Yuuri!” He gasps, his neck barely survives with the way he whips up to look towards the stage. But Yuuri’s there, he’s pulling himself up and only staggers forward a little bit. 

~ * ~

Viktor’s stamina is lower than he expected, it becomes harder to move as the dance continues, towards the middle of the song his body becomes heavy. Yuuri tries to compensate and pushes off the floor harder, but his landing becomes harder too, his body tenses and he can’t do any of the moves, his thoughts start to betray him, _this part is better off in the hands of a better dancer_. He attempts an _attitude_ _turn_ but is unable to get his knee in line with his hip. _Inflexible._  

If he had his own he’d be able to dance the way he really wants to. As he jumps, as he lands, spins, and _falls_ he thinks of what he could be doing, what he _should_ be doing in his body and his skin burns. He trips over Viktor’s too big feet and his knees and hands slam onto the stage.

When Yuuri straightens he feels lighter, he looks down and finds his own body has been returned. He shakes himself off and plucks the mask from his face and the wig from his head, chucking them to the side. 

 _I can do this,_ he tells himself. And he’s right, he easily slides into the _saut de chat_ and finishes his dance perfectly.

It’s as if the beginning of the dance never happened, he waits patiently to see the ballet master’s expression, she’s not even looking at Yuuri now, just taking notes. 

Yuuri doesn’t run off the stage like he usually does, he holds himself up ready to take the critique of Lilia Baranovskaya. When she lets him know the beginning of his performance was pitiful he agrees with a firm nod and when she dismisses him he walks off taller than ever, and he doesn’t let the fear of replacement shrink him. If they try, he will fight for his role.

In the corridors Phichit and Chris run over, “it worked!”

“ _What_ worked?!” Viktor asks. Yuuri finally gets to appreciate Viktor’s body _on_ Viktor and he looks… damn good.

“Yeah, what did you do, Yuuri?” They all look to him expectantly.

“Uh… I don’t know. And why didn’t our clothes switch this time?” Everyone takes a glance at each of the two men, and just shrug.

Viktor puts a hand on Yuuri’s arm, it’s gentle and grounding, he says, “you must’ve done something. You were falling on stage, then I was falling and it felt like I was being pulled towards you. Then… I was me again.”

“Well… all I remember is trying to dance… and being unable to.” He puts a finger to his lips, “I just kept thinking about how useless your body was…”

Viktor gasps, “useless?! There are plenty of ways to use me, Yuuri.” His affrontation turns to flirty real quick and Yuuri pulls his lips between his teeth to keep from laughing. He feels lighter than air right now.

“I can attest to that,” Chris murmurs and Phichit chuckles. Chris gives him a sly grin and whispers, “he’ll _always_ does the chores when I don’t want to,” with a wink.

“I just meant… I wanted to dance in my _own_ body, my body knows how to move and is… y’know flexible?” He shrugs.

“Hmph,” Viktor pouts, turning away and crossing his arms, “I used to be flexible… that’s what happens in retirement,” he argues. He can’t keep his eyes off Yuuri for long though because he turns back to him after only a couple of seconds and says, “you do have a lovely body though, I’d really love to be in it again.”

Yuuri feels _happy_ and can’t help but join in on the teasing, “maybe we should start with that kissing thing again? You may just end up in this body yet.”

Viktor’s jaw drops and he’s gaping, “What did you just say to me, Yuuri Katsuki? Did you just say what I think you said?” And he’s laughing and Yuuri’s tugging him by the arm, pulling him away from the stage.

Yuuri can’t help but laugh as he plucks Viktor’s hand up from his side and pulls it close to his lips.

Phichit whistles low, “look at this ladies and gentlemen, _my_ best friend is _saucy!!_ ”

“How about some coffee first?” He winks and Viktor nearly faints.

“I’ll have to survive first.”


End file.
